


Anxiety

by SouthHighSucks (RottenBoneThief)



Category: South Park
Genre: Anxiety attack/Panic Attack warning, Friendship, I am so weak for these assholes, Kyle having a fuckin Conniption, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 15:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12844539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RottenBoneThief/pseuds/SouthHighSucks
Summary: When he's in the middle of an Anxiety Attack, Kyle always tends to call him. Of all the people in his contacts, Hell, of all the people in the World, why him? Probably because Kyle knows he'll always answer. Fluffy Friendship, Kyman if you squint. Let my boys be happy damn it.





	Anxiety

‘Are you awake?’ Sent 2:37 A.M.

‘Yeah, what is it?’ Sent 2:52 A.M.

‘Can you come and get me?’ Sent 2:54 A.M.

‘Are you at home?’ Sent 2:59 A.M.

‘Yes. I’ll wait outside.’ Sent 3:02 A.M.

‘I’m on my way now.’ Sent 3:05 A.M.

When he picks me up, he’s quiet. He doesn’t ask me if I know what time it is. He doesn’t ask me if I care that he has to be up at six tomorrow morning. He doesn’t even ask me if I’m alright, probably because he knows the answer. I didn’t have to tell him ‘I can’t breath’ or ‘I need out’, all I had to do was ask him to come and get me, and here we are.

We drive in silence, his radio off. Usually I’d hate that, but right now, it’s comforting. I don’t ask him where we’re going, and I wonder if he even knows himself. We just keep driving, houses and trees passing us. He turns off onto one of the dirt roads and we make our way up to the lake. He pulls up next to a tree and shuts the car off, looking over at me. He’d been doing that a lot the entire drive here, looking at me. He seemed concerned, the way he would glance over at me as we went.

Endearing.

“You wanna talk about it?” His voice is quiet and hoarse, and looking at him now, I don’t believe he was awake when I’d text him. To me, it looks like my text woke him up and he’s now bleary eyed and half asleep trying to make sense of anything. I let out a sharp laugh, covering my mouth as my lips start to tremble. I don’t think I can talk without busting into hysterics. He keeps his eyes on me though, patiently waiting for an answer.

“Jesus fuck dude, I don’t know.” My voice shakes and he sighs, leaning back in his seat.

“Alright.” And suddenly I’ve never felt more comfortable in my life. My hands are trembling and I can’t catch my breath, but just having him here like this makes it seem like everything is fucking dandy. It feels like a total joke, but I don’t care, I’m just so glad to have him here with me.

How wild is that? I could’ve text anyone. Anyone else would’ve been a better option than this asshole, but in the back of my mind, I start to think he’s the only one who would’ve shown up. How pathetic is that? Stan wouldn’t have woken up. Stan would’ve come up with an excuse. How fuckin’ lame. I know my best friend has a hard time dealing with me like this, really, I do, but Christ, I don’t think he would even try and help me through this shit. And I mean, Ken’s got enough problems on his own, man, I don’t want to annoy him with mine…

“Thank you.” I say suddenly, picking at the peeling skin from my fingernails, keeping my eyes to my lap. He swats the back of my head, clucking his tongue.

“Don’t you dare say that.” I look up to meet his stare. He looks serious, eyebrows narrowed. I give a little smile. 

“Say what?” I ask, just to be cheeky, my smile spreading into a big, dumb grin.

“The ‘T’ word!” He hisses and I laugh. Thank you. That fucking asshole doesn’t want me to say thank you.

“Why not?” I know why not. He doesn’t want me to thank him because he doesn’t want me to acknowledge that he of all people is doing me a favor. It’s a pride thing. He sighs, the air about him feeling heavy suddenly, and he says something I’m not expecting,

“Kyle, this isn’t the kind of shit you should thank someone for. I’m your fuckin’ friend for Christ sake. You thank someone for going out of their way. For giving you something, for complimenting you. Jesus, you don’t Thank them for being there for you when you need it. As your friend, that’s my fuckin’ duty. To make sure you’re okay. To make sure you’re not hurting or afraid or alone, alright? So don’t thank me like this is a chore, God damn it.”

My mouth suddenly feels like cotton and I don’t know what to say. I part my lips but no sentences form. I can’t think clearly. How can someone like him calm me down? How can someone like him make every scream in my head just stop?

“I don’t know what you’re anxious about, and fuck, you probably don’t either, but just, if you want to ramble about something until you feel better, just go ahead, okay? We can get Steak ‘n Shake after or something, alright?”

Before I can control myself, the words are out of my mouth.

“Thank you.” I manage, my voice broken.

“God fuckin’ damn it, Kyle.”

And all I can do is cry.


End file.
